A Gentle Touch
by poxelda
Summary: The team must unravel the motivation behind a man stalking Mac. Angst with a hint of hurt comfort. No warnings.


Mac yawned pulling the worn military shirt over his head. He rubbed his face as he approached the door. The knocking rattled through his sore head like a woodpecker.

"I'm coming, damnit." Mac muttered. Mac peeped through the spy hole Jack had insisted he instal and frowned. A short dapper man in a grey suit that probably cost more than Mac's house stood holding an attache case. He alternated knocking with glancing at his watch. Mac opened the door. The man was shorter than he appeared through the spy hole.

"Are you Angus MacGyver?" The man asked brusquely. Mac blinked at him. The man went on as if Mac had answered, "I am Robert Glassberg the 3rd. I represent Gregory Thompson. I am sorry to inform you he has passed away. Acting as executor of his estate, in his will he requested I give you this." He handed Mac a thin cardboard envelope that obviously contained a disc of some kind. Mac took it staring at it blankly,

"If you'll sign here, here and here." Mac did, "Here is the information about the funeral, wake and visitation. Good day." The man spun and bunny stepped down the walkway to a shining black SUV. He was tearing down Mac's driveway in seconds. Mac stared after him, his fogged brain had seemed to freeze. He winced and rubbed the bump on the back of his head. Having a concussion didn't help. Mac let out a deep breath and returned inside. Shutting the door behind him he studied the envelope.

It was a generic white disc carton. No writing or mark of any kind marred it's blank surfaces. Mac frowned.

Who the hell was Gregory Thompson? He read the invitation to the funeral. Did they call notices of death invitations? Mac blinked his eyes and sat on the couch. He leaned forward and rubbed his forehead. He'd come home late last night, no Mac corrected, he'd been sent home late last night. The mission hadn't been too bad, in his eyes. Of course, everyone else overreacted. He'd been caught in the backwash of his own bomb and blown out a second story window.

True he'd been dazed enough that Jack and Riley had to drag him to the escape car. True he didn't remember the trip home or the night he spent in medical, but he was fine. A bump on the head, that's all. The whole team had ganged up on him and literally carried him to his bed and forced him to take pain meds. They sat watching him like vultures until he was out. Mac had no idea how long he slept. He'd woken up an hour ago feeling more than a little hung over. No one was home. Mac was surprised but pleased. He smiled. The team had probably thought he would be knocked on his ass by the drugs. Mac yawned. They weren't far from the truth. Only stubbornness kept him from curling up in bed and sleeping another day away.

He opened the CD holder and studied the CD. It had no marking on it, no clue as to who made it or why. Mac shook his head. Everything teeter-tottered. Mac caught himself with an arm on the wall and waited until the spinning stopped. He crossed to the DVD player and hit play as he sank into the couch. Mac leaned forward his forehead wrinkled in puzzlement as he watched.

A man, Gregory Thompson Mac guessed, sat folded in a wheelchair. He looked Jack's age. From his emaciated form he had been in it for a long time. He was blond and wore glasses much too big for his face. His hair was neatly slicked to the side and he wore a checked button up and brown slacks. One hand curled in obviously frozen at the wrist by whatever disease crippled him. The other was a shaking claw. Gregory had a ribbed blue tube attached to his throat. As the man sat looking off screen waiting for something, Mac could easily make out the rhythmic swishing of a ventilator. ALS Mac guessed.

Gregory sat in the center of a bedroom with all the accoutrements of a hospital. Mac didn't think it was. The table beside the bed was a glass-topped ornate brass and above the bed hung that looked to be an authentic Vermeer. Those did not come cheap. It was also one Mac had only seen in art text books, never listed as in a museum.

The man grinned showing broken and crooked grey teeth. His claw hand tapped a button on a speech board in front of him. Mac smiled, his eyebrows raising. Instead of the typical flat machine voice Mac associated with all mechanical voice synthesizers, this one was programmed with the voice of Kermit the Frog.

"Hey Mac! I'm sorry to be making this without seeing you before I died. We were such good friends, I feel like I let you down. I'm sorry. We had a lot of good times didn't we. I've missed you since MIT. I'd heard you left to join the army, how unlike you. I bet you got that out of your system and are working for NASA or hanging out with Elon Musk. I always knew you'd go far. I did ok, thanks to you. I married Jenny, but you were right. She was not the one for me. She left the day I got diagnosed with ALS.

I was forced to move back in with my folks. I wish I knew some way to contact you. I would have loved to reconnect one last time before...I'm scared Mac." Gregory's bottom lip quivered and he turned away trying to fight the overflow of tears wetting his cheek. Mac rubbed his forehead wracking his brain. He shook his head. He wasn't sure, but he couldn't remember ever meeting a Gregory Thompson and certainly didn't know the man in front of him. Mac looked up as an older woman stepped into frame bending her back to the camera.

She wore a floral dress that would have been stylish five decades ago.

"Honey, it's ok. You can finish this later." The lady had a silky purr that creaked with age. Her hair was perfectly coiffed in a corona of curls. Mac couldn't decide if she was blond, or her grey hair was that platinum.

"Mom, go away."

"Greg, look…"

"GO AWAY!" The woman's shoulders slumped with a heavy weight and she nodded. She glanced at the camera. She looked younger than Gregory did in her unmarred face, but her eyes were blue oceans with flotillas of pains swirling in them. She moved away as if she were a hundred years old. Red-eyed Gregory sniffed and faced the camera.

"Moms, what can you do?" Mac found the man's sad smile infectious. Despite his obvious torment, the synthesizer continued in the childlike happiness of Kermit's voice. "I wish...anyway, Mac. I just wanted to thank you for all that you did for me. You are truly a great friend, no more than that-a brother in every way but blood. I...I love you, man." Gregory reached out and the camera went black. Mac stared at his reflection in the blank TV screen. Who the hell was this guy?

Mac managed to get dressed without too much dizziness. He thought about driving but knew he'd be getting grilled over being out of bed. He didn't want to give his team a reason to gang up on him again. They'd be pissed enough he'd come in ignoring Doc Carl's firm orders to stay home. Mac sighed and dialed a cab. He locked his home and sat-or fell gracefully-onto his door stoop. The mid morning sun seemed to shine a spotlight on him. Mac moaned dropping his head into his crossed arms draped across his raised knees.

He hurt everywhere, he had to admit. Still, it wasn't anything he couldn't handle. It'd only been a twenty foot drop and he'd landed in garbage, sort of. Mac winced remembering the thumb and pain of his back hitting the plastic lids of a dumpster. It had cushioned his landing, marginally. Still hurt though. Not that Mac would ever admit it to the others. He was a skilled covert operative not a toddler who kept tripping at daycare, damnit. Still he couldn't suppress a moan as he staggered to the cab.

Mac studied the notice for the funeral. Evidently, Gregory Thompson was a resident of York, Pennsylvania. He was survived by his Mother Gloria Thompson-White and Step-father Michael White. Mac frowned. He recognized that name from somewhere. There were also three step-sisters and one step-brother mentioned but no names were given.

The lettering was ornate gold. Mac has seen that kind of lettering on birth announcements, wedding invitations and fancy dinner parties, but a funeral? Usually funerals were perfunctory typed bulletins the Church printed. Mac shook his head taking in the fancy stock of the paper in his hand. It spoke of wealth and decorum. That would match the impression Mac had gotten of Gregory's mother, but he still had no clue who this guy was.

Mac moaned as he slowly unfolded his aching body out of the back of the cab. He had to lean on it a moment to catch his breath and stop the world from tipping over like a top. He nodded at the cab and stiffly walked the long way through security and the familiar halls until he reached to war room. At the door, Mac took a second to brace himself. He hadn't seen anyone in the halls but could hear voices in the war room. He smiled at the familiar bickering tones of Jack and Matty.

They were as biting as ever, but didn't hold the mean edge that came in when they were genuinely fighting over something serious. Mac had realized a long time ago the two arguing was a form of entertaining themselves at the others expense. One of these days he'd get Jack to tell him what kind of relationship he and Matty had once had. The way they flirted said one thing, but this…? Mac shook his head and opened the door ready to brave the explosion.

Jack and Matty stood toe to toe in identical stubborn stances hands on hips glaring at each other. Mac had caught them in a pause of silence. He spun deciding his issue could wait. They may not have noticed he was even in the room if he didn't fall sideways into the door with a loud thump. Shit. Mac gritted his teeth and turned leaning his back on the wooden surface.

Matty and Jack both stared at him. No surprise, only frustration and anger ran across both of their faces. Mac swallowed and forced himself up onto his feet.

"Hey guys." He said shooting for a casual voice. Evidently he missed.

"Just what the hell do you think you're doing here?" Jack exploded. His raised voice crackled through Mac's aching head like thunder.

"What part of mandated bed rest do you not understand, blondie?" Mac took a step forward closing his eyes as again the room spun. He was starting to not feel well at all. Before he could get on top of pain and nausea Jack was at his side half dragging him to the closest couch. Despite the red anger in Jack's face, his touch was gentle, his eyes concerned.

"Are you ok? What's wrong?" Mac steadied himself with an arm on Jack's shoulder as he plopped onto the soft leather. Jack moved with him and crouched in front of him. Mac closed his eyes swallowing. He hadn't eaten anything since yesterday, but that didn't seem to stop his gut from threatening to explode. Mac blindly thrust the disk and paper at Jack. He felt more than saw Jack half turn and talk to Matty.

Mac leaned forward his head in his hands taking slow deep breaths to keep everything from blinking out.

"Mac?" Jack asked. Mac opened one eye and squinted at his partner.

"Hey." He mumbled. Jack smiled.

"There you are, I was getting freaked out. What's going on?" Mac swallowed. His stomach complained but he didn't think it would try any dramatic backflips. A hand nudged his right arm. Mac jumped and turned to see Bozer holding out a can of 7Up. Mac nodded, took the can, and leaned back in the couch. He took a small sip and closed his eyes letting it settle.

"So what's this?" Matty demanded. Mac opened his eyes. She was still pissed, but couldn't hide her worry. Mac noticed Riley sitting on the chair across from him loading the CD into her laptop. Cage paced behind her occasionally looking at Mac with that piercing glare she had mastered verbally fencing with terrorists around the world.

As succinctly as possible, Mac told them about the whole incident. The others stared at him a long minute taking in the story. Jack scowled standing up. He automatically moved closer to Mac's side his arms across his chest.

"It's a trap." He declared. Mac blinked up at him. That hadn't occurred to him.

"From who, Jack?" Matty challenged. Her tone said she though Jack might be right but she wasn't buying it until she saw proof.

"And why, seems like an elaborate way to get him to York, Pennsylvania." Bozer added.

"Here's the video." Riley said. The all turned to watch it on the big screen. Mac closed his eyes trying to place the voice, the face-anything. After, Mac blinked up at Jack who leaned over him looking as if he was going to carry Mac to bed and sit on him.

"You don't know this dude?" Bozer asked pinching his lip. Mac shook his head and moaned. Mistake. Everything swam for a minute.

"...Mac?" Mac blinked and forced his eyes open.

"What?" He asked. His mouth felt like he had a handful of stones in it. He wanted nothing more than to sleep.

"That's what I thought." Matty said, "Jack, take him downstairs." Mac opened his mouth to complain. "Zip it, blondie. You're lucky I don't throw you in a holding cell. One word of complaint and I just might, got it?" Mac opened his mouth. Matty raised an eyebrow. She meant it. Mac snapped his lips together and nodded wincing as the world swung up and down.

"Ok, Mac you get some rest. We'll work on this and if...notice I say if? If Doc Carl releases you and you can move without looking like a dead fish about to choke out a bone, then you can come back up and we'll decide what to do next. Clear?" Mac swallowed.

"Yes." Jack bent and held onto Mac's torso as Mac staggered to his feet. It was a good thing because as soon as he was vertical he fell forward. Jack caught him and ducked under Mac's arm. Mac was vaguely aware of Bozer doing the same on the other side. He closed his eyes as the world slid past him into a grey numbing fog. Mac heard distant voices he recognized as medical types then he was horizontal and glad to surrender to sleep.

Jack and Bozer stood over Mac's curled up sleeping figure a minute. They smiled, shared a look and left the infirmary. They were both lost in their own thoughts until they reached the War room. Riley, Matty and Cage turned and gave them expectant looks.

"He's out like a light." Bozer said grinning.

"Doc Carl says Mac will be better once he sleeps off the meds he was given this morning." Jack added rubbing his eyes and fighting a yawn.

"Ok, good. Let's hope we have some answers when he wakes up." Matty said, "Riley?"

"I can't find anything hinky about Thompson or his family. Gregory did attend MIT the same time as Mac. I could find only one lab they shared in common, something called Chemical and Biological Engineering Thermodynamics."

"Sounds exciting." Cage said dryly.

"Other than that I can't find anywhere they crossed paths. Gregory left college two years after Mac did because of his ALS."

"I found something interesting." Bozer announced. He looked at Riley, "Pull up this dude's instagram."

"How did you find his username?" Matty asked.

" I just typed MacGyver." Bozer said. The others stared at him then turned back to the big screen. Out of necessity Mac had a very small electronic footprint. He periodically put an innocuous picture on facebook or wrote something to a "friend" created by Phoenix's techs. He did not have Instagram, and if he did he certainly would never use his last name as a screen name.

"Well, that's not creepy at all." Jack said stepping forward. It was the cyber equivalent to a stalker's wall. Every tiny mention of MacGyver anywhere was there in row after row of photo posts.

"A lot of those look photoshopped." Cage said stepping closer to the screen.

"That's because they are." Riley said.

"Worse than that, look at the captions." Jack pointed at the bottom of most of the pictures, "To Mac, my best friend ever...Mac, wished we were back in Hawaii...this is nuts." Jack ran his hand through his sparse hair.

"It's like he lived an entire life with Mac as his best friend in his head." Cage said putting a knuckle against her chin thoughtfully. She glanced at Riley, "How many followers did he have?"

"None and he didn't follow anyone either." Cage's eyebrows jumped.

"That is sad." Bozer said. He raised his hands when everyone turned to glare at him "Hey, I'm just saying. To have that ALS and no friends? I'd probably make up buddies too."

"You might be right, Bozer." Cage said,

"Well, lonely hearts club, creepy stalker or agent we have to shut this down, Riley?"

"Already on it. All his online accounts are now...deleted." Riley looked up. Jack walked in a tight circle.

"Out with it Dalton, what are you thinking?" Jack shot Matty a sour expression.

"There's only one way to find out what's going on."

Three hours later an almost normal MacGyver strode into the war room. He looked pale and a little shaky, but his nausea and dizziness had passed. When he walked into the war room everyone in the room turned and eyed him like a hawk studying prey. Mac couldn't help but twitch. He offered a wry smile as he joined the team and crossed his arms. Jack smiled and crossed to his size clapping him on the back.

"Well, brother, you look almost human." Mac rolled his eyes but didn't disagree. Matty narrowed her eyes and raised an eyebrow. Mac uncrossed his arms.

"I was released by Doc Carl and Sally." He said. His voice held the audio equivalent of a smirk. Matty tried to hide her relief and failed.

"Well we found your very own stalker." Riley announced. Mac shot her a puzzled look. Riley pulled up the Phoenix copy of Gregory's Instagram account. Mac's eyebrows raised in surprise and he rocked back and forth on his feet with unease. Mac put his knuckle on his chin and stepped forward frowning. The younger Gregory did look familiar. Mac rubbed his forehead. It just wouldn't come into focus.

"He went to MIT with you." Bozer said at his shoulder. Mac nodded. He knew the face. It was one he'd pass in the halls. Mac would say hi, he couldn't remember ever talking to the guy more than twenty seconds at a time.

"You shared a lab together. Something called Chemical and Biological Engineering…" Mac snapped his fingers and nodded.

"Thermodynamics! That's it Lorenz forces in 3D printed nano-molecules." Mac said with a smile. The others stared at him blankly. Mac huffed and rolled his eyes.

"Of course, that ol' thing." Jack said dryly. Mac shot him half a smile.

"That's the research he was working on. I don't remember much about that class…"

"Can't imagine why not." Riley added. Mac continued starting to pace his fingers steepling together.

"We had a project due, I stayed after to finish my work on biomimetic grips on a microscopic tweezers…"

"I understood tweezers." Jack said shaking his head. If he wasn't already impressed by the young genius he'd feel more than a little intimidated right then. Mac didn't skip a beat. Jack could tell Mac was working through his thoughts more than talking to the others.

"He was having trouble with the 3D printer…" Mac sighed and shrugged looking up confused, "All I did was unjam the additive jets." He shook his head, "After that I saw him around campus now and then and would say hi, but nothing like...that." Mac waved up at the multitude of fake friendship photos. Cage pursed her lips.

"He is fixated on you." She said. Mac rubbed his forehead. What the hell did he do to the kid?

"...him?" Mac looked up realizing the others had kept talking. Jack studied him worried. Mac scrubbed his face with both hands. He was sore and tired.

"No, I don't think so." Cage answered.

"Think so," Bozer said his voice increasing as he spoke, "This dude could be a gay Beth ready to cook Mac's rabbit on the stove." Everyone looked at Bozer confused.

"You know _Fatal Attraction?_ Rabbit on the stove?" Jack shook his head.

"Yeah, whatever. Boze has a point, Cage. This kind of obsession what would he do to Mac if…"

"It doesn't matter." Mac declared cutting across his partner's voice. He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He didn't have a word big enough to describe the pain cranking through his scalp.

"Mac?" Mattie said her voice surprisingly gentle. Mac huffed.

"He's dead." Mac snapped. He shook his head and turned to leave.

"Mac, where are you going?" Jack asked catching the kid's arm. Mac whirled on him. Jack cocked his head. Emotions were crossing Mac's face quicker than Jack could decipher. Mac yanked his arm free.

"I got an invitation to a funeral, it's the least I can do." Jack did not like the degree of self revulsion in Mac's tone. He opened his mouth but Mac turned, his long legs carrying out of the door and down the hall in seconds. Jack turned and glanced at Matty.

"Go!" The small woman said. Jack turned and jogged after his partner.

One thing about Catholics, Jack thought as he self-consciously straightened his tie for the fiftieth time, we know how to do churches. St. Patrick's had the ornate vaulted ceiling and hush that only churches could hold when full of people. Jack glanced at Mac who sat in the pew motionless staring straight ahead. They had arrived a few minutes after the mass had started. They had slid into the last pew.

Jack was worried about Mac. Not only was he still recuperating from the last mission, but something about this kid had him feeling guilty about something. This one Jack couldn't figure it out. What could Mac possibly feel guilty about? The guy died of natural causes, it sucked but Mac certainly wasn't in charge of passing out ALS. He had tried to tell this to Mac, but Mac ignored him. When Jack wouldn't let it go, Mac resorted to faking sleep. Jack didn't like it at all.

Mechanically, the two men stood, sat, and knelt with the rest of the congregation. Jack felt himself fall into the familiar rhythm mouthing the words. Both men stood while the priest, deacons and altar boys filed out. The rest of the congregation followed. Jack turned to join the line in the aisle but stopped when he saw Mac stood staring at the altar. Jack frowned.

"Hey, kiddo, are you ok?" Mac's Adam's apple bobbed. He looked at Jack an added glitter to his eyes. He slid out of the pew and crept up the side aisle to the front of the church. Jack let out a deep breath and followed the younger man. As they reached the side of the altar, Jack saw what had drawn his partner forward. A picture of Gregory Thompson with the same glossy gold writing leaned crookedly on an easel. Mac stopped staring at it a long minute. He turned to an arch and seemed to brace himself before walking through it. Jack frowned.

The altar had several pictures of Gregory spanning his baby years to the man Jack had seen on the video sent to Mac. Jack watched as Mac slowly walked along the rail stopping and studying each one. Jack could feel pain radiate from his partner. He gritted his teeth and turned to look at the rows of chairs. The lone occupant of the room was Gregory's mother. Jack felt a knife go through his heart for this woman. She sat curled over as if she was holding in her guts after a mortal wound. She had aged since the video and her hair flew in every direction. Jack had the feeling the woman was unwinding in the same way.

Mac turned and faced the mourning woman. His heart clenched. Since he'd left LA Mac felt as if a giant fist was squeezing air out of him. The room swished around him as he looked at the broken woman before him. Mac swallowed the tears stinging his eyes. He didn't look at Jack. The older man's sympathy would undo him. Mac silently moved down the aisle until he stood in front of the woman. The woman held a white porcelain urn on her lap and circled it the same way she had her son the first nine months of his existence. Mac closed his eyes and looked up at the ceiling. He was determined not to cry.

"Uh...I'm sure sorry, Mrs. Thompson." Jack offered, rescuing Mac from trying to come up with something to say. Mrs. Thompson looked up surprised. Her eyes widened and she set the urn in the chair next to her. She broke into a watery grin. Before Mac could push a squeak out of his mouth, the woman jumped to her feet and wrapped him in a crushing embrace. Mac stiffened for a second before he closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around the woman. She felt like a broken bird.

"You came! You really came." She pulled back and wiped her wet face with a lace handkerchief. He straightened her clothes and cleared her throat. Mac smiled. She had odd lilac colored eyes that sparkled like tourmaline. Mrs. Thompson looked like she was going to blow away in a breeze but Mac could sense a steel bar that wouldn't break under a category 5 hurricane-bend maybe but definitely not break.

"Of course, " Mac managed. He blinked quickly and offered a forced smile, "Gregory was my best friend. I would have been lost without him." Jack's eyebrows rose in surprise. He smiled and nodded when he saw the relief in the woman's eyes. Mac swallowed and put his arm over the smaller woman's shoulders. He could feel her shaking.

"I would have come sooner, but…"

"Oh, I understand NASA is very busy putting that new telescope in space. Greg always told me what you two talked about." Mac shot Jack a pained look but nodded, "I'm sure he did. He loved you very much." Mrs. Thompson turned away and gathered up the urn. She held it up to the two men.

"I had this made at wedgewood. Do you think he'd like it?" Mac studied the urn. It must have cost thousands of dollars.

"It's perfect." He said clearing his throat again.

"I have to take it...Could you come with me to spread his ashes?" Jack jumped when he felt Mac's hand clutch the back of his arm like talons. He could tell how hard it was for Mac to keep up the charade, and his well honed facade was cracking. Jack surreptitiously patted Mac's hand.

"Well, Mrs. Thompson…"

"Gloria, please." Jack nodded and gave her a sweet smile. She sort of reminded him of Nana Beth.

"Gloria, we have to get back to the...launch pad. There's a...firing early in the morning, so we don't have a lot of time." Gloria looked crushed.

"I understand. I am so grateful you came, when none of his other friends…" Mac closed his eyes as if he was in the backlash of an explosion. Jack could feel him tremble and sway.

"I'm sorry…" Mac husked. Gloria nodded and sat back down. She closed her eyes and bowed her head dabbing at the steady streams flooding out her eyes. Mac stared at her wishing…? He felt Jack's arm around his shoulders as his partner edged him out of the side room. Mac felt as if he walked on a cloud and tripped over his own feet several times. Jack put his other hand on the front of Mac's suit holding him steady. Mac closed his eyes.

He didn't remember getting into the car or the drive back to the airport. Mac slumped against the window in the seat Jack shoved him into. Mac's head was splitting apart, he felt hot and suffocated-everything hurt. Mac closed his eyes. He felt the familiar callused warmth of Jack's hands as he checked Mac's temp.

"I don't have a fever." Mac mumbled. He could hear Jack's relieved exhale.

"Excuse me for checking, I was beginning to think you'd be taking a month off instead of the two weeks you were supposed to."

"That sound like a good idea." Mac whispered. His body was heavy. He felt sleep beckon.

"C'mon, kiddo, let's get you stretched out so you can sleep for real."

"I did sleep." Mac grumbled not wanting to move.

"With Sally hovering like she does? Excuse me if I'm kinda skeptical." Mac found himself chuckling. He slowly rolled back and looked at Jack.

"You aren't wrong." Jack raised an eyebrow when that's all Mac offered. Normally, the kid didn't miss an opportunity to complain about Phoenix's head of nursing. Mac swore over and over again that Sally was put on this Earth as a bane to his existence. A claim the fiery redhead always took as a compliment. Her and Mac's relationship was...hard to explain. Sort of a love-hate-hate-tolerate kind of thing.

Mac let out a long sigh and pulled himself up using the back of the seat in front of him. The plane's engines roared into life and started rolling away from the hangar. Mac listed to the side. Jack managed to catch him and haul him to the back of the cabin where two long couches sat facing each other. He helped Mac out of his jacket and tie. The kid sprawled already half asleep. He murmured a complaint as Jack removed his dress shoes.

"I think you did good, bud." Jack said as he crossed to the overhead bin that held pillows and blankets. Mac half opened one eye and stared at Jack.

"What are you talking about?"

"Coming here, giving that ol' lady some comfort." Jack said as he turned with a pile of blankets and pillows. Mac's face soured and he moved to sit up. Jack put a pillow under his head and pressure on his shoulder. Mac sighed and relaxed back although his face didn't lost it's expression of pinched pain.

"I owed her that much." Jack frowned shaking out a soft blanket. Mac's voice was riddled with guilt. He draped the blanket over his partner who curled into a ball snuggling under the nest of bedding. Jack sat down and leaned forward.

"Mac, why the guilt? You know none of this is on you, right?" Mac rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

"Yes, and no." Mac hurried on before Jack could get a word in, "I know the ALS wasn't my fault and there was no way to save his life or take away his mom's pain…"

"But?"  
"I could have been there for him, Jack. I know what it's like to be an outsider, to be…" Mac's mouth worked and Jack could see tears demanded to run out of the kid's eyes. He put a hand on Mac's arm.

"Alone." Jack offered. Mac closed his eyes as if Jack had punched him in the jaw. There was a long silent minute as the plane levelled off. Jack sighed and sat back taking off his own boots. He yawned. Mac wasn't the only one still recovering from their last mission.

"I know you were bullied, Mac. Just like this kid probably was, but there is no way you could have known everything going on with him." Mac turned to study Jack for a long minute unconvinced. Jack sighed and laid on his side facing his partner, "You know we've all been there, kiddo. I was the star quarterback and popular. I saw kids bullied and never said anything. Hell, one time Jimmy had a chess nerd by his neck and was about to…" Jack paused unable to meet Mac's wide eyes, "The point is I could have done more, I should have done more. Maybe reached out, or stopped the name calling and wedgies but I didn't. I wish I had, but Mac. We were kids." Mac sighed.

"I know...but he was so alone, no one but his mom came to his funeral…" Mac's voice was barely above a whisper.

"There's no way." Jack announced snuggling into his own pile of blankets. His eyes were heavy.

"No way what?" Mac asked confused.

"You're thinking that you could have ended up like Greg alone except some fantasy relationship, I'm telling you there is no way that could have happened."

"Oh yeah? Why not?"

"Mac, Greg's of the world are taken under by their pain. They don't reach out because they're afraid of the next person and the pain they might cause. Greg could have found you, he could have gone to support groups or whatever. The fact is he chose to live alone and in his head because it was easier."

"Easier? What if…"

"No, listen bud, Gregory is a sad case, no lie there, man. But he ain't you. Where he curled in and armadilloed you reached out to others."

"Armadilloed?"  
"You know what I mean. Yeah you got your walls, and believe me nobody but superman can jump those things…"

"And you're superman in this analogy?" Jack was glad to hear Mac's dry amusement return.

"Of course, but don't get me sidetracked. What I'm saying is sometimes you retreat and hide, but you always, and I mean always reach out when someone needs your help. Too often for my comfort most of the time." Jack yawned. His voice slurring. Mac watched as the older man drifted off and smiled. No Jack, Mac told himself, I would be just like Greg if it wasn't for my friends-my family looking out for me and dragging my ass out from behind my shell. Mac closed his eyes pulling the fat pillow he held against his body closer drifting into sunny dreams.


End file.
